


On Magi and Mistletoe

by Cassandra_Elise



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Falling In Love, Flirting, Post-Episode: s01e14 The Christmas Invasion, Regency, Season/Series 02, Surprise Kissing, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-21
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-24 09:33:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cassandra_Elise/pseuds/Cassandra_Elise
Summary: Boxing Day. The Doctor has just defeated the Sycorax, and Rose is slowly getting to know the new Doctor. And what better way to get to know the newly regenerated Tenth Doctor than by taking a little trip to Christmases past? I wrote this several years ago for a friend, but it's my first time posting it on a fanfic site.





	1. On Wise Men and Christmas Trees

There was very little out of the ordinary about that Tuesday after Christmas. Other than the fact that the snow coating greater London had a strange ash-like texture to it, it was just like any other Boxing Day. People slept in, went out for special breakfasts, or took advantage of the incredible sales in the shops around town. A perfectly normal day . . .

Except for one young woman, but she didn’t mind. In fact, Rose Tyler welcomed the strange and unusual, and today qualified as both.

Clutching a mug of hot coffee, she watched the tall, lanky man—rather alien, she had to keep reminding herself—bounce from heel to heel as he tried to calculate what would be the best method for repairing the wall in front of him. A large cutout of a Christmas tree in the drywall served as a reminder of the previous day’s events.

Rose’s companion mechanically ran a hand through his hair, and Rose had a vague thought of what it would feel like if that was her hand stroking his thick, brown locks. Realizing she was on the verge of several bizarre fantasies involving that hair, she decided to interrupt his nervous pacing. “Doctor?” she began tentatively.

“Lemme think, lemme think, think, think,” he muttered in a singsong voice.

The Doctor had never struck Rose as the domestic type, but her mum had insisted that “fixing the sodding mess you and your alien friends made” was the least he could do. The Doctor had tried to point out that not only were the Sycorax in no way friends of his, but he had been unconscious for the greater part of yesterday’s mayhem and thus not responsible for said injuries to her apartment; but his observations had been met with a death glare that would have frightened a cold, calculating Dalek into submission. His previous incarnation had learned that ignoring the wishes of Jackie Tyler was never a good idea.

“Doctor?” Rose tried again. “Can you fix it?” She knew the answer before he turned his condescending gaze on her.

“’Course I can,” he sputtered indignantly. His gaze shifted back to the wall for a brief moment. “The question is how?” He chewed on his bottom lip, and Rose blushed as she imagined nibbling on that lip herself.

What was with her today? She’d never been this attracted to the previous Doctor. Her mum must’ve slipped something in the coffee. Rose eyed the brew warily before gulping the rest down.

“Well, there’s nothing for it. I’ll just have to knock it all down and start over.” The Doctor was positively gleeful at the prospect.

“Like hell you will!” Jackie’s voice resonated from what was left of the kitchen.

“Oh, come on, Jackie!” the Doctor shouted back. “Where’s your sense of adventure?” He winked at Rose as Jackie told him just where he could put his adventures.

The wink left Rose slightly giddy, but she managed to pull herself together enough to speak loudly over her mother. “Mum, do you want our help or not? ‘Cos we can just hop onto the TARDIS right now and—”

Jackie immediately appeared in the doorway. She heaved a sigh that could be heard two galaxies away. “Fine.” Her eyes flooded with resignation. “Have it your way. Tear down every wall in the flat if it’ll make you happy.” She traipsed back to the kitchen, mumbling, “I swear you two are completely nutters.”

“She does the martyr bit remarkably well, doesn’t she?” the Doctor whispered.

Rose grinned, her tongue sliding over her front teeth. “You noticed?”

The Doctor smirked at Rose before calling out, “Obviously we need drywall, but should we get tools as well, or do you have any laying about?”

Jackie gave him a look. “What do you think?”

“Tools it is!” he exclaimed rubbing his hands together in excitement. He turned to Rose. “Incidentally, I have a few repairs to make on the TARDIS as well before we take off.”

Rose shrugged. “I figured as much after you crash-landed.”

“She’s already on the mend from that tea your mum made, but I’ve got to connect a few wires still, and then she’ll be right as rain.”

“I can’t wait.”

The Doctor looked relieved. “You can’t? That’s good because, despite what you said last night, I was worried, what with my new looks and all—”

“Oh no, I like your new looks.” The words came out before she could stop them. “And your less moody personality,” she added, just in case he thought she only was interested in him physically.

“Me too.” The Doctor smiled almost shyly, and Rose found the space between them had been filled. He was so close she could count his freckles. Swallowing, she nervously extended her hand for him to take. He reached out for her, and—

“Aren’t you two on your way yet?” Jackie’s voice interrupted whatever special moment they might have had.

Rose groaned. “I guess we should get going then.”

Which was how the Doctor and Rose found themselves part of the mad throngs of shoppers exchanging gifts from the previous day and buying more discounted Christmas decorations than they could possibly have use for.

“You humans.” The Doctor shook his head. Rose was afraid the Doctor was about to launch into one of his criticizing tirades against the human race, but even if this was his intention, this new Doctor spoke with a hint of amusement and fondness. “You waste your time, energy, and money on finding the perfect present for someone, and what do they do to thank you? They return it the next day to the nearest store, and if someone asks them what happened to their gift, they fabricate some story of how they ‘lost’ it.”

“This Doctor certainly is as preachy as the old one,” Rose teased.

“But think about what you’re missing.”

Rose’s blank stare indicated she had no idea what the human race was missing, or if she did, she wasn’t about to say.

Slightly appalled but still retaining the sympathy that set him apart not only from most alien life-forms but from his former self, the Doctor elaborated for her. “There’s far too much emphasis on the material. Do you think the Mymsopians on the Planet of Notnef celebrate Christmas with an elaborate gift exchange?”

Rose glanced around at the crowd of shoppers, afraid that somebody had overheard the Doctor, but the mass of humanity was, as the Doctor had noted, invested solely in their search for the best deals. Nevertheless, Rose kept her voice down as she asked, “They celebrate Christmas on other planets? I thought it was an Earth tradition.”

“Of course they celebrate! Come Christmastime even the seriously somber Judoon walk around with garland and tinsel dripping from their horns. Christmas transcends time and space!” The Doctor led Rose by the arm to a swarming coffee shop and found an empty table in the back corner. “D’you want a cuppa? I could use one.”

“Um, no thanks.” Rose wasn’t sure what Judoon or Mymsopians were, and that fueled her insatiable curiosity even more. Wouldn’t it be fun to experience the various Christmas celebrations firsthand? With the new Doctor’s endless energy and childlike enthusiasm, they could cover so many Christmases in so little time. “When did the tradition of gift-giving became so popular here on Earth?” Rose wondered aloud.

“Well, it didn’t start at the first Christmas, let me tell you that,” the Doctor blustered. “Do you think the shepherds could afford presents?”

“Oy! What about the Wise men? I know they had gifts.”

“They didn’t arrive until after Christmas.” Rose opened her mouth to argue, but the Doctor raised a long hand to silence her. “Trust me, I know.”

“I guess that takes the first Christmas off the table,” Rose sighed.

“Eh? What?”

“We can’t afford running into your past self.”

The Doctor blinked rapidly, taking in her words. “You wanna see some Cosmic Christmases firsthand?”

Rose didn’t remember the other Doctor being this thick. “Well, yeah. Why talk about it when you can show me?”

“All right then.” The Doctor rose, the quest for tea forgotten, and offered his hand to Rose. Before she could grasp it, he dropped his hand to his side. “Oooh, I just remembered. We can’t visit 16th century Germany either.”

“What were you doing there?”

“I dunno.” The Doctor looked a bit sheepish and spoke quickly—quicker than his usual fast speed. “There was a Rift in this lovely little German forest, so we stopped to recharge, and we bumped into Martin Luther, and I . . . might’ve inadvertently given him the idea for the Christmas tree.”

“You’re joking.”

“Well, all right. I didn’t let it slip. I think it was Adric, the whiny little git.” The Doctor clapped a hand over his mouth. “There’s that rude bit of me again. I should probably be nicer considering what happened to him…”

Before Rose could ask who Adric was, and what he did to warrant such obvious disdain, the Doctor was once again on his feet and headed towards the hardware store. As she watched him take long, determined strides, Rose decided to leave the subject of his former companions for another time. Despite how good-looking and convivial this Doctor might seem, he still had some demons to wrestle with, and she didn’t wish to get on his bad side by dredging up old, unpleasant memories. “My teacher told me it was some other bloke who invented the Christmas tree,” she commented idly.

The Doctor looked rather insulted. “You’re going to trust your teacher over a Timelord?” He glanced sideways at her, and realized she was grinning wildly. Her smile diffused whatever indignities the Doctor felt, and Rose felt brave enough to link arms with him.

“Where shall we go first?” she asked.

“Where d’you want to go? Past, present, future? Here, there, thither?”

“Surprise me.” Her doe eyes peered up at him under her long, dark lashes. She wasn’t intentionally flirting. It just felt natural to clasp his hand, bat her eyes at him and lean ever so slightly until her chin grazed his shoulder.

The Doctor grinned back at her, evidently not the least bit upset with her flirtatious behavior. “Then what are we waiting for? _Allons-y_!” He yanked her forward with him as he took off in a mad dash, weaving his way through a mass of annoyed Londoners,

“Doctor, wait!” Rose planted her feet, which caused the Doctor to nearly fall on his face as he was propelled forward by the sudden braking motion.

The Doctor placed both arms on her shoulders, peering deeply into her eyes. “What’s wrong?” His concerned visage just about melted her heart.

Rose tugged at a strand of her long, blonde hair as she tried to quell the sudden desire to kiss him. “What about my mum’s flat? I thought we were gonna fix it.”

“Rose, you forget who you’re with! We will repair it today! We’ll just take a quick trip in the TARDIS first and then when we’re through we’ll—”

“Return to Earth at exactly 11:14 AM,” Rose finished, reading her wristwatch. “She’ll never know we were gone. It’s brilliant.”

“But of course.” The Doctor took off again, his coat billowing out like a brown banner, and Rose strained to keep up.

At a busy intersection she caught up to him, and they spent the remainder of the trip to the TARDIS hand in hand, giggling like schoolchildren on holiday.


	2. On Mistletoe and Mr. Washington Irving

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor takes Rose to an early 19th century Christmas party where they meet Mr. Washington Irving and try not to create any time-travelling paradoxes.

Their trip was momentarily postponed upon arrival at the TARDIS as the Doctor scurried around reconnecting and soldering wires back into place. He shooed Rose to the wardrobe room to get properly attired for their trip, citing the TARDIS’s psychic abilities to pick out the proper costume for the world he meant to take her to.

 When Rose returned sometime later in an early 19th century dress, the Doctor was under the main console, making the last of the repairs with his Sonic Screwdriver. As he looked up at her, she got a definite sense of _de ja vu_ from when they had travelled back to Dickens’ time. Her _de ja vu_ grew as he uttered breathlessly, “Blimey, you’re beautiful!”

Her dress was in the popular bodice cut of the era, in powder blue with a pattern of tiny white flowers. Lace framed the sleeves, the hem, and her low-cut front. A velvet sash of deep cerulean tied right beneath her bosom, accentuating her—if Rose was allowed to boast—ample figure. A blue velvet cloak trimmed in ermine completed the assemble. Her long, blonde hair was piled messily in a bun, the shorter tendrils framing her face and bringing out the brown in her eyes.

Rose self-consciously smoothed her white, elbow-length gloves. “Not just beautiful for a human, eh?” she enquired, reminding him of his comment as the previous Doctor.

“No,” the Doctor nearly shouted. He looked down at his trainers and spoke in his new hurried manner, “I mean, yes—I mean . . . you’d be beautiful on any planet.” Their eyes locked, and Rose felt an irresistible pull towards him.

The Doctor stood and twiddled with his controls, dispelling the moment. “And we’re off! Hopefully,” he muttered under his breath.

“What?” Rose squawked, a modicum of panic seizing her.

But before the Doctor could explain, the TARDIS lurched forward into time and space. Several seconds later, she landed gracefully—as gracefully as the TARDIS ever did— with her typical groans and creaks and materialised with a final sputter.

Rose made a dash for the door, but the Doctor caught her on the edge of her sleeve. “Hold on a moment. You can’t go out looking like that.” He produced a handkerchief from thin air and shoved it against her face.

“Oy! What’s the big idea?” Rose’s muffled voice demanded.

He began rubbing at the makeup on her face. “Nineteenth century society does not take kindly to ‘painted ladies.’”

“Lay off, will ya?” She snatched the hanky from his overeager hands. “You’re not touching my lipstick.”

After Rose was found presentable in the Doctor’s eyes (lipstick and a wee bit of rouge still in tact), he gallantly opened the door for her.

Rose raised a sceptical eyebrow at him. “What about you? Aren’t you going to change?”

The Doctor surveyed his modern brown pinstripe suit and matching duster. “What’s wrong with this?”

Rose opened and closed her mouth in her best impersonation of a fish. “Never mind.”

The two stepped out into the cold night air, their feet making little sound on the thin dust of snow that covered the grounds. The TARDIS had parked them near an estate, and judging from the garlands decorating the entryway and the train of carriages lining up on the drive, there was a festive ball taking place inside.

Rose drank in the surroundings. “So, we’re still in England, right? Oooh, and there’s a big to do up at the mansion.”

“Yes and yes. Shall we see how the 19th century celebrates Christmas?” The Doctor proffered his arm, which Rose happily took.

Before one of the footmen at the stately door could even ask, the Doctor whipped out his Psychic Paper. “Here’s the invite. Thanks, old chum.” He guided Rose into the front hall, which was bedecked in more garlands, red ribbons, and sprigs of mistletoe. As Rose stood gaping at the scenery, a servant swept by and assisted her in removing her heavy cloak. The Doctor’s coat was also whisked away, much to his consternation. “My screwdriver was in there!” he hissed.

“Someone needs a glass of Christmas punch.” Rose pulled him further into the estate, heading for a drawing room set up with refreshments. They sipped their punch and contentedly nibbled on ham, cranberries, fig pudding, turkey and an assortment of 19th delicacies that even the Doctor had difficulty naming.

“This delightful dish is possibly haggis,” the Doctor declared between mouthfuls. He sampled the food again. “Yep, most definitely haggis.”

Fortunately, Rose was intently watching couples in an adjoining room dance a reel. “This is like Jane Austen’s time, yeah?”

The Doctor scrunched up his nose and shook his head from side to side in deep contemplation. “Uuuum . . . yeah, give or take a few years.”

“So, I’m masquerading as Elizabeth Bennett!”

“More like Emma Woodhouse. She’s the one with the money.” He nodded at her expensive attire. “Of course, our Lizzy did go and marry Mr. Darcy, who was fabulously wealthy, so I suppose…”

Rose was deeply amused at his rant and produced her dazzling smile, complete with the tongue swipe across the teeth. “Could we have a go?”

“What? At dancing?” The Doctor looked as petrified as if she had asked him to kiss a Slitheen.

“Don’t tell me you forgot how to dance.”

“No, but that doesn’t mean I know the steps to a 19th century jig.”

“Can we try, pleeeeeeeeease?” She was flirting again, and once more it seemed to be working to her advantage.

The Doctor looked up at the ceiling for guidance and then sighed in defeat. “All right. But don’t blame me when we end up looking like imbeciles.” He bowed at his waist and extended his hand. “Miss Tyler, may I have the honour of the next dance?”

Rose giggled. “Of course you may, Doctor.”

The next dance was slow, which the Doctor enjoyed because he could watch the other dancers’ moves for reference whilst waiting for his turn, and which Rose enjoyed because she felt the dance was far more romantic than the jaunty reels. Their steps must have fooled the company, for a young couple approached them afterwards with words of praise.

“That was a splendid turn about the floor, Mr. . . .” the gentleman began.

“I’m the Doctor and this is Miss Tyler,” the Doctor supplied.

“Henry van Wart; my wife, Mrs. van Wart. We’re neighbors of our charming host Lord Bracebridge.”

“The owner of this estate,” the Doctor guessed.

Henry gave him a quizzical look and then seemed to notice the Doctor’s strange apparel for the first time, but before he could comment on it, his wife motioned for a young man to join the group.

“And this is my brother, Mr. Washington Irving,” Mrs. van Wart told them. “He’s visiting us from the States.” 

“Washington Irving?” Rose repeated. “As in _Rip van Winkle_ and _Sleepy Hollow_?”

The Doctor was frantically gesticulating, but it was a little too late.

“Rip van who?” Washington reiterated.

Rose realised her blunder. “Never mind.” She turned to whisper to the Doctor. “He hasn’t written them yet, has he?”

“Nope, he’s a fledgling writer at this point,” he whispered back. “Only has one thing published.”

“Poor Washington has been suffering from ennui and a lack of purpose. We thought the trip to England would do him good,” Mrs. van Wart was saying.

“Sarah!” Mr. Irving admonished, obviously embarrassed.

“Well, it was nice making your acquaintances, but we must pay our respects to the host.” The Doctor firmly ushered Rose away from the trio.

“What’s wrong?” She glanced back to see Washington Irving eyeing them curiously.

“Remember that story with Martin Luther? We don’t want to rewrite history. It starts with something as simple as your slip up about _Rip van Winkle_.”

“So we’re leaving, then?” Rose’s lush bottom lip stuck out in a noticeable pout.

“Better to be safe than sorry, as they say.”

But Fate or Time was not without a sense of humour. As they were held up by elderly gentleman doddering particularly slowly out the door, Rose glanced up and noticed mistletoe suspended in the doorway. “Doctor, look!” Grinning mischievously, she pointed at the sprig.

The Doctor followed her finger and gaze. “Oh yes, mistletoe. _Viscum album_. Can’t say I’m very fond of it. I have no use for parasites,” he added darkly.

“Hemi-parasitic,” a voice behind them quipped. The Doctor and Rose turned to face Washington Irving.

Piqued that this human upstart had challenged his knowledge, the Doctor scowled at him. “Technically speaking, yeah. They don’t usually kill the plants they’re attached to. But they’re parasites all the same.”

“Of course, you know then about the tradition of the mistletoe,” Irving continued.

“Of course.” The Doctor’s scowl was becoming a permanent feature of his face. Rose watched the battle of wits with amusement.

“The Celts believed the plant kept evil spirits away. We hang them from our doorways in remembrance of that ancient practice.” Washington spoke directly to Rose in what she inferred was a flirtatious tone.

“They’re also good for kissing,” Rose added, her eyes dancing from Mr. Irving’s face to the Doctor’s. The Doctor looked pained.

Mr. Irving looked perplexed. “Kissing?”

Rose opened her mouth to answer, but the Doctor barreled over her. “She’s talking about the old Norse legend. The goddess Frigga forbade all plants and animals from hurting her son Baldur, except she forgot the mistletoe. And wouldn’t you know it? Baldur died from a mistletoe arrow, no thanks to Loki. And it was somehow decided that any two people who came under the mistletoe must kiss as a token of peace. The end.” He turned to Rose. “Let’s go,” he mouthed urgently.

Rose wondered if the Doctor’s bluntness had anything to do with his near-botched regeneration the previous day. “Actually, I was talking about the tradition of a bloke grabbing his sweetheart and kissing her under the mistletoe.”

The Doctor’s head hit the door, and Rose soon found out why.

“I’ve never heard of that tradition,” Washington confessed with a smile, “but it sounds highly festive.”

Rose felt the colour leave her face. “Come on! You don’t kiss under the mistletoe either?”

“Not til now,” the Doctor mumbled.

“Why don’t you two demonstrate?” Mr. Irving suggested.

“What?” Rose and the Doctor cried in unison. Rose now had more than enough colour in her cheeks. Her heart threatened to jump out and dance a reel across the floor. She noticed the Doctor was tugging uncomfortably at his tie.

And then, he kissed her. Right there in front of all the 19th century gentry. He kissed her tenderly—nothing that would shock the company they were in—and yet the effect was devastating. Rose felt like the time she had knocked her head on her mum’s opened cupboard and had seen those clichéd stars. She felt like she was travelling through time and space, twirling for all eternity in the Vortex. She was dizzy and breathless and was certain her heart was now pounding loudly enough to betray her feelings to the entire party. Then she heard the distinct beats of two other hearts keeping a syncopated rhythm with her own. Had the Doctor felt it too?

After what seemed forever, but had really only been a few seconds, they broke apart. Washington Irving had an insufferable knowing look on his face. “That was enlightening,” he said. “I will be sure to share this tradition with the rest of the world.”

Though still in a daze, Rose had enough of her cheek left to tell him, “You better.”

***

The Doctor and Rose burst into the TARDIS, as giddy as if they had imbibed on too much Christmas punch. The Doctor leaned against the main console until his merry chuckling subsided, and Rose likewise used the door as a prop to keep her standing as giggle after giggle escaped her lips.

“That was amazing!” Rose’s eyes were aglow, and her face was flushed scarlet from the cold (or perhaps something more).

The Doctor looked quite proud of himself. “Wasn’t it, though?”

Rose suddenly felt daring. It was a common side effect of hanging around with the Doctor, but she seized the chance before her courage failed her.  “Especially the mistletoe part.” The blush on her cheeks deepened.

“You mean because we altered the course of history? I told you that Christmas tree story was true. It really can be _that_ easy to mess with time.” At any other moment the Doctor’s impish grin would’ve been infectious, but not now—not after she had given her heart and soul in that kiss only to have it go completely disregarded by him.

 “Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.” She couldn’t hide her bitterness. She was about to give the Doctor a piece of her mind when she noticed he was shyly playing with a lever, his head hung low, hiding all but a fragment of his face.

“’Course that kiss was nice, too,” he said quietly. He glanced up at her, two blotches of red now adorning _his_ face, and a lopsided smile gracing his mouth, the sight of which had Rose all but snogging him again.

“Yeah, it was.” Her voice hitched.

The Doctor held her gaze for a moment and then started setting the controls. “We should return to Jackie.” He paused, his hands suspended above a keyboard. “Unless—”

“Unless?” Rose prodded eagerly, taking several giant steps to reach him.

“Unless you want to see another Christmas?”

“Why not? My mum will still be there when we get back.” Rose tried to sound as casual as possible, as if traveling through time and space with one devastatingly attractive alien was as commonplace as rain. “Can we visit the uh, Mymsopians?”

“Netnof it is.” The Doctor cranked a lever, tossed a switch and pressed a button, and the TARDIS whirled to life. “Hold onto something!”

Rose was already gripping the side of the console. “ _Allons-y_?” Her smile was brighter than the lights of the TARDIS.

The Doctor beamed back at her. “OOOOOH, YES!”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Notes: Strange as it seems, you can find lots of interesting historical facts about the ancient usage of mistletoe, but nobody seems to know when the modern celebration of kissing under the mistletoe came into effect. The earliest mention of it in modern literature is in Irving’s collection of stories The Sketch Book of Geoffrey Crayon, Gent. During my research I learned that Irving sometimes made up “traditions” in his works, which in reality only became traditional after he wrote about them! Was he a Timelord as well, or did two special individuals give him the idea of kissing under the mistletoe? I think you know which theory I subscribe to. ;)

**Author's Note:**

> Despite the hundreds of songs and stories that say otherwise, the wise men were technically not at the stable in the Bible. It says in Matthew they visited a house, which means Mary and Joseph had been in Bethlehem for a while and were no longer rooming with the animals. 
> 
> It is a common belief held by many Germans (especially German Lutherans) that Martin Luther did indeed come up with the modern day use of the Christmas tree. You can actually read about it in his own writings. In America, Christmas trees didn't become popular until the Revolutionary War when Prussian soldiers brought their traditions to English barracks. Charles Dickens also helped to boost the popularity of Christmas trees in his own England.


End file.
